


Doll

by forestdivinity (ForestDivinity)



Series: Doll [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: #Ain’t no time for that Noncon shit in this house, #EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL AND DISCUSSED, #Geralt is a Good Dom, Anal Sex, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Consensual Kink, Crossdressing, Doll Play, Dollification, Dominant Geralt, Feminization, Geralt likes Pretty Things, Heavy BDSM, Jaskier in Dresses, Jaskier is Very Pretty, Kink Negotiation, M/M, No Beta, Orgasm Denial, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Spanking, Submission, Submissive Jaskier, Total Power Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 06:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23346562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestDivinity/pseuds/forestdivinity
Summary: Jaskier is Geralt's Doll - a pretty thing to be dressed up and played with. He doesn't have to think or make decisions, doesn't have to do anything other than exist. It brings a quiet relief to his mind, the ability to slip away from all the constraints of society and know that all he has to do is whatever Geralt wants him to do.Geralt adores his Doll - he's sweet and quiet and perfectly compliant. Something that Geralt can care for without worrying about the reaction he might get. When he's caring for Doll the cruelty of the world can be forgotten, pushed out of mind. Their Playtime is something that they both adore, the time off from the rest of their stressful lives.It's a perfect partnership.So why is it so hard for Jaskier to ask for more?-This is a kink heavy series that has a focus on complete submission and total control, however there is a strong focus on consent and safe play, and both characters love each other very much. This is something they've both agreed to and had multiple in depth discussions about
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Doll [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679176
Comments: 19
Kudos: 304





	1. Chapter 1

There are some days where Jaskier finds it hard to slip into that mindless, quiet headspace, but recently they are few and far between. When this... thing had first started between him and Geralt, some days had been most days and he’d struggled against the mental constraints, if not the physical ones. Found it hard to let go and just sink. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to - he never would have said yes in the first place if he hadn’t had at least some desire to try. It had just been hard to give himself up like that.

All the accessories and clothes and decorations had helped smooth the transition at first but Jaskier doesn’t necessarily need them anymore. It’s far easier for him to slip down into that headspace now. Experience and practise have eased away most of the worry he'd had, in the last two years. Jaskier can be Geralt’s partner and be his pretty doll and he can go under with nothing more than a look if needed. 

Of course that didn't mean he didn’t like or want his things. Geralt might have suggested this play in the first place (and hadn’t that been a shock, something Jaskier had definitely not expected) and Geralt might have brought the first dress or five, but Jaskier adored it too now. 

The Dollhouse is his favourite room in their home. He knows that should probably embarrass him, but it’s the truth. He loves his pretty pink chair and the soft, four poster bed. He loves the white painted furniture, the giant armoire that hides an army's worth of dresses and skirts. There are dressers for his panties and his bloomers, carefully piled boxes for his hats. A dresser with more makeup and jewellery than Jaskier has ever seen outside the homes of very rich nobles, wigs lining the drawers. Everything is arranged _just so_. Just the way Geralt wanted it. Sometimes, when they’re not playing, when Geralt is away, Jaskier will go in and just kneel in the centre of the room. It’s enough to ground him when the world seems to be spiralling out of his control.

He’s not allowed to do anything else. If ordered, or sometimes - if he asks - he can choose a dress to wear. He can strip himself, leaving his normal clothes on the bench in the hallway before he enters, placed there for that specific purpose and nothing else. He may kneel on the fluffy rug, head against the floor as he waits, quiet and still. Nothing more though. After all, he is a doll, subject to his owner's desires. A perfect, treasured play thing.

Jaskier does not need to move, unless Geralt wishes him to. He does not need to speak, unless Geralt asks him to. Truly, he doesn’t even need to think. What need does a doll have for thinking? 

It had been scary at first, giving so much of himself up. Now he finds it quiets all the anxiety in his head. Finds he wants it more and more. 

Always, perhaps. 

At least while they’re at home. He doesn’t know how to ask for that though. They already play for long spates of time. Two or three days of the week, usually over the weekend when Jaskier has no classes and Geralt has no obligation to take a contract. It isn't as if they don't spend a lot of time in their roles and yet Jaskier finds himself craving. Isn’t it selfish to want more? 

All in all, it takes about two weeks of him dancing around his own feelings for Geralt to notice. Well, less notice. He probably noticed Jaskier acting strange the minute he started but it takes two weeks for his patience to wear thin and for him to accept that Jaskier isn’t going to work through this on his own.

* * *

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asks one evening. Jaskier is on his knees but they’re not playing properly, he just likes resting his head on Geralt’s thigh. Having Geralt's hand carding through his hair. Jaskier has grown it out a little in the last few years and the soft waves he'd tried so hard to hide in his youth are more apparent, the curly tips of it brushing his shoulders. He doesn’t mind, because it means Geralt gets to style and braid it and he doesn’t have to wear hot, itchy wigs quite as much.

He shifts a little, somewhere between his headspaces, feeling soft and quiet enough that his worries seem far away. They are still quite definitely there, audible in his mind, but slowly drifting off like a ship on the horizon. Or as if he is listening to them through a blanket, the heavy wool of it wrapped around his ears and muffling the outside world. Jaskier blinks and lets out a slow, quiet sigh. 

“It’s just-“ He starts and then cuts himself off. Geralt waits for a few minutes before he tugs gently on Jaskier’s hair.

“Tell me.” His voice is soft but firm. Not so different to the one he uses to order his Doll around. The thought makes him swallow in anticipation. 

“Geralt...” Jaskier sighs and presses his face against his lover’s thick thigh. “It’s just that I... it’s not that I don’t love spending time with you as _just us_!” 

He looks up, Geralt’s eyes have narrowed slightly but he doesn’t say anything. It’s probably his cue to go on. 

“It’s just-“ he’s repeating himself like a parrot, Jaskier realises “- it’s just that, I want to do _that_ more.”

He can’t bring himself to say it. To properly explain what he wants. The embarrassment alone is enough to make his shoulders tremble. Yes, Geralt had started all this, but Jaskier is the one who can’t stop craving it now. Since when has he - Jaskier of Oxenfurt, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove - gotten embarrassed, he asks himself, trying to quell the sudden tide of emotion that threatens to spiral through him. _Breathe_ , Jaskier thinks, _just breathe._

Geralt blinks slowly at him. His golden eyes are still narrowed, just a tad, enough that Jaskier can see the little crinkle between his eyebrows that he's always liked to kiss. The corners of his lips are curling up in a slight smirk and as if he might tease, but he looks down at Jaskier’s open, terrified expression and stops, stroking a thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone. 

“By _that_ , I assume you mean our Playtime? Being my doll?” Geralt asks and Jaskier knows he’s just trying to clarify but shame still twists in his belly, like a hot, writhing snake. The worst part is he likes it. Geralt always manages to make him feel so very small and he adores it. Jaskier chokes back a tiny sob but nods against Geralt’s leg, feeling all the tension leave him suddenly, his body going limp on the floor. Geralt sighs, the sound impossibly fond, and he uses his grip on Jaskier’s hair to tilt his head back, forcing him to look up with wide, watery eyes. 

For a moment he just stares. Jaskier is sure he looks a mess, his lower lip quivering, tears rolling down his blotchy cheeks. 

“You should have just said so. It’ll be much easier having a doll around permanently.” Geralt says after a beat, nonchalant, like Jaskier isn’t a stone's throw away from breaking. 

It’s perfect. Silent tears continue to roll down his cheeks and he’s as still as he can force his overwhelmed body to be.

Geralt holds him there, head back, limp and shaking until Jaskier takes in a loud breath, having not even realised he’d stopped breathing. 

“There we go.” Geralt murmurs, as if he'd been waiting - and he likely had been - and he watches until Jaskier remembers how to breathe in a way that’s quiet and unobtrusive, the way Geralt has trained him to breathe. Perfectly on beat. 

“In position, Jaskier. Hands on your knees. You might want this, but we need to talk about this first.” He says and Jaskier hates him for it but knows he’s right. It doesn’t stop another stifled sob leaving him, interrupting the perfect pattern of his breathing. Geralt doesn’t react with any sympathy, just crosses his legs over one another and waits. He's in control now, Jaskier can see it in the way his shoulders have shifted, the way he watches as if he's sat on a throne, not their stupid, floral couch. 

Jaskier’s limbs feel heavy and slow, like he’s moving through thick honey. He sits back on his heels, chest straight, hands on his knees. His head is bowed just slightly, but otherwise he looks straight ahead, eyes dipped enough that he doesn’t meet Geralt’s gaze - not without permission. The only thing breaking his posture is the trembling of his shoulders, the candlelight flickering across his pale skin. He hates that he can’t stop his body reacting, can’t be good for Geralt, but he's still stuck somewhere between Jaskier and Doll, pulled taught in the worst way.

The great grandfather clock in their living room ticks on. Jaskier counts his breathing with the seconds and adds them up in his head. It takes three minutes and forty-two seconds for Geralt to speak again. 

“Look at me Jaskier.” He orders. Jaskier does as told, stared up into those calculating gold eyes. Some might have called them cold but Jaskier can see the love behind them, the way they soften slightly when they see Jaskier, the little involuntary reactions of his body that reveal just how much Geralt adores him.

“We already play a lot. I thought it was enough for us, but it isn’t, is it?” It’s a rhetorical question but Jaskier shakes his head in agreement anyway. Geralt frowns and Jaskier realises his mistake, goes deadly still almost instantly, but he knows Geralt will neither ignore nor forget the infraction.

“You want more. Do you...” Geralt manages to sound a little nervous here and it’s frankly reassuring. To know he isn’t the only one. “Do you want this full time? Well, whenever we’re alone? We both have work lives that I won't interrupt, but when we're behind closed doors... that's what you want?" 

* * *

Jaskier says nothing, he doesn’t even blink, but he keeps his breathing steady. 

“You may speak.” Geralt says after a minute, still staring at Jaskier with his piercing eyes. 

“Yes! I want you to keep me under. I don’t... I want to rely on you all the time. I want it so bad, Geralt! I fucking dream about it, having you in control of me... never giving it up.” His words come out like a torrent that someone keeps stifling, tiny sobbing sounds interspersing the sentence. He’s so fucking desperate for it, rubbed raw by his own desire, sat perfectly straight as he spills his guts out. 

Geralt, the bastard, doesn’t even react. Not visibly anyway, though it’s hard to tell through his tears, his eyesight going soft and blurry. 

“Everything is just so calm when I’m down like that and I don’t have all these stupid stresses and worries and I can just exist! Without having to be a person! All I have to do is what you want me to do. I know, I know we have to work. I don't want to stop working, I love my job, but when it's the two of us I need... I need to be brought down. I need you.” Now he’s started, he can’t stop himself talking, and it’s only the force of his training that stops him from flying up and pacing like a caged animal. Instead he sits and shakes and cries.

Fuck, he’s a mess. He feels like he’s a thousand splinters of glass, or a flower with all the petals pulled off. He feels like he’s been reading too much bad poetry from his students. He feels like he’d rather not feel anything at all. 

“Please.” He sobs out, letting his head drop finally, tucking his chin against his chest. 

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt sighs and suddenly his broad body is wrapped around Jaskier’s own form, pulling him close. “All you had to do was ask.”

Strong fingers grip his chin and tilt his head up, Geralt brushes a feather light kiss across his lips. 

“If we do this, I won’t let you up. Not while we’re at home. Not while we’re alone. Not unless you safeword. You forget what you are, slip out of your headspace, anything like that, I will punish you. You won’t be Jaskier, when we’re alone. You’ll be a doll. My Doll. Empty and obedient. You understand?” Geralt doesn’t sound unkind, just firm and unrelenting. 

Jaskier nods, once. Doesn’t dare speak. 

“Good. Go to the Dollhouse. Kneel, head against the floor.” He doesn’t tell Jaskier to wait, because waiting means anticipation, and Doll doesn’t anticipate anything. Things just happen to it. All Doll has to do is exist. Geralt lets go of him and Jaskier stumbles up the stairs in a daze, still not quite down. Unbalanced from the strange turn of the evening. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little flashback this chapter and more hints of Doll!

It is a relief when he’s finally kneeling. Geralt had said the floor, not the rug, so he lets his head rest on the cool hardwood panels, breathing slowly without counting. The rhythm is ingrained in him. Eskel had once commented on it, how unnatural it was for a human to breathe so evenly. Geralt had laughed and corrected him - it wasn’t a human breathing, it was Doll. They’d both laughed together at the joke and Jaskier had continued to serve them both tea. 

The memory helps him sink deeper, the tension leaving his limbs, his arms and legs tickled delicately beneath his body, as if he’d been neatly folded up, ready for the next time he was wanted. 

There is no clock in the Dollhouse. Jaskier’s world fizzes away to nothing but the sleepy heaviness of his own limbs and the floor beneath his skin. 

By the time Geralt enters, Jaskier has gone far, far away. All that’s left is his pretty Doll, perfectly still and silent on the floor, right where he’d left it.

* * *

Geralt picks Doll up easily and carries them over to the bed. Sometimes Doll is an He, or a She, but tonight Doll is a Them. Doll is them more often than not, something Jaskier had admitted to enjoying - dolls don’t have a gender, not unless their owners decide on one. That doesn’t mean they’ll look any less pretty in their dress. Geralt unfolds their limbs carefully, squeezes their toes and their fingers. Doll doesn’t react, but that’s to be expected. 

Doll only moves when Geralt tells them to. 

Geralt runs his hands up Doll’s legs, pleased to find they’re still soft and smooth as silk. Doll hasn’t been used for a few days, but Jaskier has obviously been keeping up with their routine. Geralt will bathe them later, he decides, only a little put out that he isn’t the one getting to shave Doll’s pretty legs. He squeezes those milky thighs once more and then leaves Doll on the bed to choose out their clothes for the night. 

But first he gives Doll a kiss. It’s a rare indulgence, he only does it because Doll isn’t painted up all pretty yet so Geralt can’t ruin his makeup. Those big, blue eyes he loves so much blink once at him. They are beautifully blank, but not dull. Instead they seem to shine in the soft light of the room, like expensive gemstones against the pale skin of Doll’s face. 

“Such a pretty Doll.” Geralt murmurs to himself, lightly patting them on the cheek. Doll only blinks lazily again and Geralt allows himself a smile as he walks over to the large armoire that holds most of Doll’s dresses. It is an impressive collection, and one that had cost a lot of money to amass.

Jaskier had always dressed expensively. Doll is dressed like a princess, in fine colourful silks and satins that are perfectly tailored to their body. Most of them are in the courtly style too, heavy skirts and tightly laced bodices. Doll won’t move unless Geralt tells them to, but the dresses certainly help to discourage any stray thoughts. 

Not that Doll should have any thoughts. 

Geralt shakes his head and hums as he looks through the dresses. Before he had Doll, he’d never understood why people put such care and thought into such wasteful clothes, but he gets it now. The desire to see something beautiful wrapped like a present. 

* * *

Tonight marked a shift.  _ Jaskier  _ and Geralt will be suddenly spending far less time together. Instead, Geralt will have  _ Doll  _ whenever he wants. Practically all the time. It’s certainly a special occasion, and as such deserves a special dress. Doll isn’t meant to have thoughts or feelings, but even Geralt knows his doll isn’t entirely perfect. Doll has favourites, dresses they like more than others. Ones they gravitate to when Geralt lets them pick.

And there’s one they favour above all others.

It’s not Doll’s first dress - that one had met an unfortunate end as a pile of bandages, and they’d agreed not to bring any dresses on the road after that - but it’s an early one. A duck-egg blue silk with grey lace trimmings, a touch darker than falling snow. The skirt is heavy, the bodice just a shade too small. Doll likes how snug it is, how the colours represent them both. They had designed it personally. 

Well, Jaskier had designed it. Doll didn’t have the mind for that. 

It really was a beautiful dress. Geralt preferred Doll in creams and sweet off whites, delicate pastel browns that matched their soft hair, but he had plenty of time for that later. Practically all the time in the world now. 

Tonight he was going to dress Doll up all pretty in the clothes they liked the best. Starting with the dress, and it’s matching pair of bloomers. Usually Doll wore panties - they were easier to slip on and off - but Geralt liked the way the bloomers clung to their thighs, ribbons tied in pretty bows to keep them up. They were a soft grey, not unlike the lace trim of the dress, the ribbons that same pastel blue. 

The stockings were of course white, ever so thin and delicate, as were the lace gloves. Beautiful little things that Geralt had to be careful with. Perfect for his Doll. He smiled to himself as he traced the fabric with his finger, seeing no reason to hide when the only one here was Doll.

* * *

When they’d first started this, two years ago, neither of them had expected things to go so far, but Geralt certainly wasn’t complaining. In the beginning they’d both been nervous and unsure of their places. Jaskier hadn’t been Doll yet, though the beginnings of his submission had curled around him like an enticing perfume. More than once they’d abandoned the game completely in order to satisfy other urges. 

How far they’d come. Geralt couldn’t imagine being without Doll anymore. His pretty Doll, so quiet and obedient.

That had been the hardest part for Jaskier, learning how to sit perfectly still, only speak when given permission. It ran counter to his whole personality, the vibrant spitfire that he was, but it was also what silenced the buzzing anxiety in his brain the quickest. Geralt had never found it odd, though Jaskier had certainly worked his way through a breakdown and revelation or two about it. It had been over the details.

Little things.

The first time Geralt had painted his nails, Jaskier had sat like a statue. Still, but entirely too tense. Geralt hadn’t started teaching him about breathing exercises yet or the right way to be still. Jaskier rarely stayed down for more than a few hours and he’d been twitchy back then, during Playtime. Little movements that he’d tried so hard to stifle. It had been a long road, teaching Jaskier to be still without focusing on being still - without focusing on anything at all. So Geralt was still used to his tiny, aborted movements as they played, which was why he’d found it odd when Jaskier had gone so motionless, taught like a bow string.

He’d waited for a moment, wondering if Jaskier might safeword out, but he hadn’t. Geralt hadn’t dared to look up. Had finished painting Jaskier’s nails a pale creamy blue and splayed his fingers carefully to dry. The nail polish had been Jaskier’s idea, the first suggestion he’d given Geralt, the scent of it irritated his nose slightly but he’d soon come to enjoy the little flashes of colour on Jaskier’s pretty hands.

Geralt painted another coat without looking up, his hands perfectly steady. Jaskier’s breath came in unsteady little fits, sometimes he forgot to inhale for almost a minute, other times he sucked in far too many short, sharp gasps at once and probably left himself lightheaded. Geralt monitored the staccato beat of his heart as he waited for the nail polish to dry and when it was set he sat up properly and smoothed his hand through Jaskier’s soft hair.

“Relax, doll.” It hadn’t been a  _ name _ then. Geralt had yet to pinpoint when it had changed from a term of affection to Jaskier’s alternate name but he knew when it wasn’t. A choked little noise left Jaskier, one he couldn’t hold back but he’d been so good, tried so hard all evening that Geralt let it go, pulling Jaskier into his lap.

“Shh, just relax. You shouldn’t tense up so much. You’re still thinking too hard about all this.” Jaskier wasn’t exactly a small man, so there were a few moments where Geralt shifted to get them both comfortable, carefully folding Jaskier’s long limbs until he was tucked up and easily cradled. He smoothed his thumb over the back of Jaskier’s neck, just above the lacy frill of his collar. 

“Marx..” Jaskier had called, voice tiny and very far away. It would one day morph into his Doll voice, something breathier, pitched higher than his usual tones, but it had yet to be smoothed out into placid calm. Geralt squeezed him, knowing better than to let Jaskier go after a safeword, and he rubbed his hands down Jaskier’s side as he tried to soothe him.

“It’s okay, Jaskier, love. I’m not mad. Just worried.” He whispered as a tiny sob left Jaskier and he pressed a kiss to his lover’s hair, the smell of sweet lavender shampoo filling his nostrils. “Talk to me, Jaskier. What went wrong?”

Jaskier had taken one, two, three, hollow breaths before he’d spoken, his body trembling softly.

“I-I don’t know.” The tenor of his voice had dropped back down into something more familiar and Geralt gave him another careful squeeze, tucking Jaskier’s head beneath his chin.

“It was… the nail polish, it’s- I mean that…” Jaskier had groaned, words tripping over themselves as he tried to figure out what to say. Secretly, Geralt thought it was a little bit cute when he got himself flustered like this but the thought was outweighed by the fact that Jaskier was upset.

  
“Take your time, Jaskier. Breathe for me, slowly.” He counted in and out with Jaskier until his heart was beating at a more normal pace and he was no longer at a risk of suffocating himself. Geralt wondered how he’d missed the rolling anxiety inside of Jaskier for so long. They’d travelled together for decades before getting together and somehow Geralt had missed it. Now though he could rarely forget.

Perhaps Jaskier had just let his guard down now.

He blinked himself out of his thoughts when Jaskier shifted.

“When you started painting my nails, it was… I was desperate to be good for you. I thought the world might splinter if I upset you. And the colour was so pretty, I just kept thinking about how it matched my dress and how pleased you would be when you were done and, and… I realised I want this so badly Geralt but I’m no good at it. I-I couldn’t even sit still right!” His voice wavered from confused to upset to angry and Geralt hushed him softly, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s painted lip, working it out from between his teeth.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” He’d chastised softly, smiling at the familiar huffy sigh that left Jaskier as he pushed back against the broad expanse of his chest.

“Jaskier, I wouldn’t have suggested this if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it. If I thought you wouldn’t want it. This is for both of us, it's supposed to be relaxing.” And most of the time it was. They both slept better after Playtime. Geralt had thought they’d both found it relaxing anyway. Had Jaskier disliked it the entire time? 

“And, I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t think you couldn’t handle it. I know it’s hard sometimes but that’s why I’m here, for you to rely on Jaskier. And if you don’t enjoy this, if it’s making you feel worse, we can stop-”

“No!” Jaskier interrupted him loudly, wriggling in his lap, but too trapped by his skirts and Geralt’s arms to turn around properly and he let out a high whine of annoyance. 

“No, Geralt, I don’t want to stop. I just wish I could please you properly. Be better at this.”

“Jaskier… you’re perfect. The point of this is, you don’t have to worry about being good. About thinking about pleasing me. You just have to exist, let me control everything else. Empty that twittering little brain of yours and give yourself a chance to rest. If I’m upset by something you’ve done I will tell you, I might punish you, but it’s my decision. You don’t have to worry about it. Understand?”

Jaskier said nothing. Geralt carefully turned him around so they were facing each other. When Jaskier looked up his blue eyes were wide and a little shiny, glossed over just slightly. Geralt didn’t know what he was looking at then. In hindsight it was the first proper glimpse of Doll he’d gotten. 

“Jaskier, do you understand?” 

“Y-Yes. Yes, I understand, Geralt. But I think I’ve been going about this all wrong.” Jaskier had blinked rapidly and let out a sound between a laugh and a wet sob but he was smiling, so Geralt took it as a win, brushing a kiss over Jaskier’s painted lips. 

“None of that matters now. I’m just glad you’re okay.” Geralt kisses his hair again and for a few long moments they just sit, curled up against each other, the soft rustling of Jaskier’s puffy skirts the only noise in the room. Then Jaskier speaks up, head resting on Geralt’s chest.   
  


“Mm… can we try again, Geralt?” His voice is edging up into that high, breathy territory again, Geralt tilts his head up and marvels at the longing in his eyes.

“Now?” A safeword usually ends all play for the day. They’ve never tried to go back. But Geralt can see the want in Jaskier’s features.

“Please… I want to.” He’d whispered and so Geralt had taken his time, bringing Jaskier down and his pretty boy - his doll - had relaxed into it properly for the first time and he’d realised he wanted to do this over and over because Jaskier had looked perfect when the awareness began to slip from his eyes and he’d gone limp in the bed sheets, his glossy eyes shining in the candlelight.

He would be Geralt’s perfect doll. He just needed a little training.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doll gets pampered and dressed up pretty!

Doll is perfect now. Geralt wanders over to touch them gently, brushing his fingers over their lips and face again. So delicate and pretty. Carefully, he lifts Doll’s legs and slips the bloomers up until they’re resting on their hips, the bunching fabric obscuring the little bump of their caged cock. With extraordinary care he tightens and ties the ribbons around Doll’s smooth thighs. Their legs are bare compared to his upper body, but Geralt doesn’t mind Doll having a bit of body hair.

Sure, it’s unusual, but it just makes his Doll unique. Special. Reminded Geralt that this wasn’t just any doll, picked up off the street. This was his Doll, special because Geralt had helped craft them, decided what parts to keep and what parts to carefully trim away.

Besides, his Doll wears such complicated, high necked dresses that no one sees their hairy chest anyway. Hair poking through his stockings would be unacceptable however so Geralt keeps their legs shaved and rubbed smooth with sugar. 

Geralt smiles as he remembers  _ that  _ conversation. Remembers the first time he’d shaved Jaskier’s legs. And it had been Jaskier, then, shivering and blushing as Geralt carefully dragged the razor blade over his skin. Geralt had gotten him off over the bathtub afterwards, loving the feeling of silken skin beneath his calloused palms. It had been something Jaskier had kept up afterwards, even when they weren’t playing and Geralt was pleased to know that Jaskier liked it just as much as he did.

Sometimes Geralt would catch him simply rubbing his calves together, delighting in the frictionless glide. Had he been able to, he probably would have gotten hard, but they’d agreed on long term chastity less than a year into their play. Two years down the line Jaskier hadn’t had an orgasm in nearly three months, had learnt other ways of enjoying himself.

Jaskier had point blank refused to let Geralt shave his chest hair though and honestly? Geralt hadn’t wanted to. It was a part of Jaskier that he liked very much. Especially when he was parading about with his doublet undone, chemise unbuttoned, dressed like a slut and grinning as if the world had been served to him on a silver platter. Brat. The thought had him smiling down at Doll and he brushed a hand through the soft fur on their chest, rubbing his thumbs over Doll’s nipples until they’re pink and peaked.

And then, because he can, he brings his mouth down and bites them until they’re red. Once upon a time this would have been enough to have Doll losing their place but now Geralt can tease their sensitive little nipples for hours and not have to worry. Doll is very good. They slip up so rarely now. Geralt can’t wait to have them like this all the time. Well, as close to all the time as is possible. Jaskier still works, however rarely it is, and they like to go outside and travel when the weather is good. There will still be time with Jaskier, time to love and appreciate him and give him everything he deserves.

Geralt will just have a lot more time to play with his Doll. Time to enjoy them. It’ll be a bit of work, dolls need to be taken care of to ensure they stay in good condition but Doll doesn’t need attention. Can be put away and left if needed. Geralt palms his hand over his cock at the idea - Doll sat on the bed when not in use, forgotten about until Geralt needs them again. But not needing it doesn’t mean Geralt doesn’t want to give them attention, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay away. Dolls are meant to be played with after all.

“Should finish getting you dressed, Doll. Got distracted because you’re so pretty.” Geralt murmurs, not expecting much of a response because the only thing Doll is allowed to do right now is breathe and blink - Geralt doesn’t want their eyes to hurt. And the little reactions he does allow give him enough feedback to make sure Doll is safe and happy. So when Doll blinks slowly, their placid blue eyes still focused on the ceiling, Geralt smiles. It's as much as a  _ go ahead _ as he’s ever going to get but it's nice to know that Doll - that Jaskier - is enjoying this as much as Geralt does, no matter how far down they go.

* * *

The white stockings are rolled up Doll’s slim calves and then their soft thighs. Since they’ve settled at Oxenfurt, Jaskier has lost just a little of the muscle definition he’d had for years. They look more pampered than ever and Geralt only has himself to blame, but he likes the little swell of Doll’s belly and the barely there pudge of their thighs. If he treats Doll to a few too many sweets or encourages them to spend his days just sitting around like a perfect decoration, well, he has permission to do all that and more. And Doll does make such a lovely ornament, no matter where Geralt puts them.

This pair of stockings have delicate lacing up the back and they tie off just below Doll’s bloomers, leaving a tantalising strip of skin exposed. Geralt positions Doll with their legs straight up to lace them, carefully curls their toes into dancer’s points. When he’s done he leaves Doll like that for a few moments, knowing the position must make their muscles ache. They hold it perfectly though and Geralt can’t stop the frisson of arousal that it sends through him, having such utter control over something like this.

_ Something _ , because Doll is not a person. They are an object for Geralt to work out his desires on. That’s okay. It’s exactly what he wants.

Doll doesn’t whimper or move but Geralt scents a little pain in the air, something sharp and acrid, and he gently lower’s Doll’s legs again, rubbing at their calves absently, more to touch Doll than to soothe them. After all, what sort of object needs soothing?

Geralt stands Doll up then, places them on the thick fur rug and stretches out their limbs. They already look a pretty treat, in their bloomers and their stockings, but Geralt wants to get his dress on. Wants to do their makeup and hair up real nice, maybe thread a flower into Doll’s soft brown locks. Not a wig today, he decides, but maybe a few pretty clips to catch the light. 

First the dress, he reminds himself, leaning to stroke over Doll’s waist, squeezing it softly. There is the slightest hint of a curve there, mostly from the time Doll has spent corseted in the past, waist trained into obedience. It gives them a waifish, androgynous look that Geralt adores. He’s always shocked at how Jaskier - who is pretty but decidedly masculine - manages to become this fae-like and vaguely feminine thing.

It’s almost like magic. 

* * *

Geralt blinks and shakes himself out of his distraction, picking the dress up off the bed and carefully undoing its many, tiny buttons. They are small enough that even if Doll wanted to, they couldn’t dress by themself, they have to rely on Geralt for this too. He finds himself smiling faintly again. 

The first part of the dress to go on is the petticoats. Numerous fluffy things that take up an ungodly amount of space in the armoire. Doll has them in a variety of colours to match whatever outfit Geralt decides on, but today they are a simple white and almost overwhelming in their puffiness. Geralt slips them over Doll’s shoulders with practised ease and then tightens the band until they sit perfectly, billowing out over Doll’s slender hips and ending just above the knee. 

It is a little more difficult to get the dress sitting right, but Geralt pushes Doll’s arms into the tailored sleeves and fluffs the skirt until it sits right, admiring just how voluminous they are. 

“And now the buttons. You’re lucky you’re such a pretty doll.” Geralt murmurs to himself as he pulls the back of the dress tight, the line of buttons goes from neck to just above Jaskier’s ass. They are covered in the same soft blue fabric and there must be a hundred of them, ever so carefully sewn in place. Jaskier had adored the design and convinced Geralt to keep the fiddly little bastards, no matter how much of an inconvenience they are. He never has to button them all, Geralt thinks with fond annoyance. 

Luckily, Geralt is well practised at dressing his doll and Doll is very good at staying still, so the buttons don’t take as long as they once had. The bodice is tight on Doll, restricting their movement just a little as it cinches in tight at the waist giving the slightest illusion of breasts. The bell curve of the sleeves hides the broadness of Jaskier’s shoulders. Geralt ties a lace collar around their slender throat and takes a step back to admire his work.

It is hard to believe Jaskier and Doll are the same person sometimes. 

Doll blinks slowly at him and Geralt circles them once, then twice, taking in all the angles of their body. Absently, he palms at his cock through his pants, the sight enough to have him half hard and a little warm with desire. Geralt is nothing if not patient though and Doll isn't ready yet.

Soon.

He sighs and squeezes himself before carefully guiding Doll over to the vanity, sitting them on the stool in front of it, their hands placed delicately in their lap, light enough that they don't crease the fabric of their skirt. Head tilted up, Doll is forced to look at themself in the mirror and Geralt sees a glint of recognition in their cool, blank eyes before it passes - like a wave over a lake. 

At one point that little spark would have been a flush or a whimper, Jaskier embarrassed to see what he'd become under Geralt's steady hands, but Doll doesn't feel emotions and so they cannot feel shame or shyness. They simply are.

* * *

Geralt hums, and picks up the heavy, wooden hairbrush from the vanity, weighing it in his hand absently. It is a surprisingly simple thing for all it had cost, but it is sturdy and effective at its job, the stiff bristles of it leaving Doll's hair shiny and soft once Geralt was done. Usually, Jaskier will just use a thick toothed comb made of ivory, that he’d gotten off a trader somewhere to the south. It is lavish looking and does a decent job at making Jaskier look boyishly handsome, but Geralt likes seeing Doll’s thick hair brushed properly, smooth as satin beneath his fingers, the tips of it curling around the base of their neck.

“I think I’ll have you in some pearls today. They’ll go nicely with your dress.” Geralt murmurs as he begins to brush Doll’s hair, carefully working his way through the few knots that have begun to form.

Strangely, this has always been one of the harder parts. Geralt can’t count the amount of times that Doll had cried out or whined as he’d brushed their hair in the past, but today they seem to be very deep. Geralt doubts they’re even trying to be good anymore - they don’t have to try, Doll is well trained enough that they are good even when their mind is entirely absent. Geralt groans to himself and squeezes his thighs together, the leather of his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. 

Geralt forces himself to focus, brushing out Doll’s hair, admiring the little wave it has now it’s grown out. Doll has plenty of wigs, pretty things for Geralt to put them in, but he finds he likes their natural hair the best. Plus there’s no chance it could slip off as Geralt moves them, which is always a bonus meaning he can pull and tug it without any hesitation, using the silky locks to guide Doll. 

He keeps the hairstyle simple today, impatient to have Doll despite knowing there’s plenty of time. Geralt takes good care of his toy but like any boy there are times when he is eager to play and times when he is happy to just pamper. Today is quickly morphing into the former. Most of the dark locks are left to free fall and frame Doll’s pretty face but Geralt does gather a few strands up and braid them into a delicate little bun, pinning it in place with a little blue flower that has pearls carefully sewn into the center of it. It had taken him weeks of practise for Geralt to get good at styling hair, first on Yen (who had quickly dropped out after Geralt had stabbed her with a hair pin for the third time in one evening) and then on various wigs but it had been time well spent.

“There we go. So pretty. Just gotta do your makeup now. Should get you painted one day, put it up in the bedroom.” Geralt murmurs, talking about his idle fantasies. “Then again, who needs a painting when you have the real thing.”

He’s on his knees, trying to grab a pot of khol that had somehow slipped off the vanity when he notices Doll’s stocking clad feet, bare of any shoes and he frowns and berates himself internally for forgetting. Sometimes he doesn’t bother to put Doll in shoes but they often complete the look he has in his head and he does like seeing Doll complete. 

Made up in Geralt’s vision. 

* * *

With one hand he squeezes Doll’s slender calf before pushing himself up off the floor, leaving the kohl on the vanity for later. Doll’s shoes are kept in a separate chest, each pair tucked away in a wooden box lined with velvet. They have glass lids, so Geralt can see them without having to open them, each as shiny and stiff as the day they were made. There is a special cobbler that Geralt orders them from to ensure they fit Jaskier perfectly and each pair costs almost as much as a dress. Geralt smiles as he looks through them before picking out a pair of heeled Mary-Janes, the sole of them as thick and heavy, silver buckle shining in the light.    
  
They look unworn. Geralt knows that the shoes are always just on the side of uncomfortable, the leather rigid and unbroken most of the time as Doll rarely walks more than a few paces at a time. They’re worth every coin that Geralt paid for them. 

“There we go. Look how lovely you are.”    
  
Lovely indeed. A perfect, beautiful thing if Geralt has ever seen one. He stands back up easily and leans down to press a feather light kiss to Doll’s lips, knowing it will be the last one of the evening. Probably. Sometimes even his self control wavers when he has Doll at his mercy. With one hand he picks up the kohl he’d found as well as a tiny brush that he fights the urge to glare at. 

Geralt has maybe broken four of these tiny, eyeliner brushes. Yennefer refuses to enchant them for him and they’re so spindly and fine that in his concentration he sometimes just… snaps them. It’s embarrassing. Jaskier had found it so funny the first time that he’d slipped out of his headspace entirely and almost fallen off his stool, the brat. He’s a lot more careful with the brushes now, but that doesn’t stop the odd teasing comment from Jaskier, even after Geralt had taken a wooden spoon to his pretty bottom. 

Doll, thankfully, is much more quiet. Beautifully silent in fact, as Geralt dips the brush into the smoky grey kohl, just a shade darker than the lace on the dress. Geralt rarely lines their eyes in pure black, the colour too strong and striking for such a delicate thing. Instead he sticks to dark greys and soft browns that soften their striking features. Jaskier has a handsome face, Doll’s is classically beautiful. 

The eye powder is a similar, slightly lighter shade of grey and Geralt doesn’t lay it on heavy, just enough to hint at the colour without overpowering the rest of Doll’s look. Peachy blush is smoothed over their cheeks and Geralt once again admires how smooth and unblemished Doll’s face is, barely a wrinkle by their eyes, not one pockmark scar or beauty mark. Jaskier refuses to tell Geralt how he keeps his skin so beautiful but he does have an impressive selection of creams and serums that Geralt doesn’t dare poke with a ten foot pole.    
  
The only time it’s worse is when Yen stays and Geralt wonders whether he even has a bathroom sink, it's so covered in bottles and shiny glass decanters. He takes to using the kitchen sink those days, too intimidated by the various decoctions that they both keep. His routine for Doll is far more simple, one that Jaskier had helped him devise so that it would satisfy them both after they’d started to play for days at a time. Geralt has to admit, he’s glad for it now.

The final touch is a shiny pink liquid that he spreads across Doll’s soft lips, making their mouth look plump and shiny and Geralt has to resist the sudden urge to kiss them. 

They make a strikingly pretty picture. 

“Oh darling. It’s almost a shame I have to punish you.” 


End file.
